


sparring with techno as a kid

by the__pigeon



Series: ghostbur thing :) [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Biologically Related Sleepy Bois Inc., Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Read authors notes please, Semi-Sad Ending, Sparring, also no beta, i wrote this during the exile arc and just forgot to post it lol, kinda major character death bc wilbur, part of a discontinued story, sorry lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the__pigeon/pseuds/the__pigeon
Summary: Ghostbur has fond memories of his childhood.
Relationships: But mainly those two - Relationship, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, the whole sbi tbh
Series: ghostbur thing :) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104881
Kudos: 29





	sparring with techno as a kid

**Author's Note:**

> this is technically chapter five for a story but i gave up on writing it but if you want to see what if _could've_ been you can see the other story in the collection lol  
> so if it doesn't make sense, that's why
> 
> anyway. it's still understandable even without the first four chapters, there's just a few bits that might be a bit confusing but. put up with it i guess

Techno and Wilbur were half brothers.

When Wilbur asked Phil who Techno’s mother was, he avoided the question. When he asked Techno if he knew, he said he never bothered enough to ask.

Whoever she was, she wasn’t human. She must’ve been powerful, because Techno had abilities that the rest of them couldn’t dream of. She must’ve been somewhat of a pig too, because Techno was literally a pig.

He was powerful. Much stronger than the rest of them. Incredibly agile and dexterous. He was the ideal fighter. He learnt how to fight so young. Fists, sword, axe, bow, he was more powerful than any of them could hope to be. 

Ghostbur even remembers the day he beat Phil in a battle. Little thirteen year old Techno, wearing a red gown even back then, with a wooden axe, managed to knock down Phil. Tommy, only five at the time, had jumped to his feet, cheering and jumping, running up to Techno and dancing around him. It was a celebration of his victory.

Wilbur was not a fighter. Where Techno was ideal to be a warrior, to be in battle, and Tommy aspired to be just like his eldest brother, Wilbur much preferred literally anything else.

He took mainly to reading. He loved books. Loved collecting them, caring for them, fixing them if a page fell out. He particularly liked books about geography, or economics, or politics. When he ran out of books on subjects that he liked, he started writing them.

He was always writing. Writing or reading at his desk, the window opened where he could hear the rest of his family cheering and yelling outside and the sounds of wooden weapons hitting. There, he was content.

Of course, Philza didn’t like seeing him so secluded. While he was glad his son had found a pastime he was passionate about (especially one that didn’t result in bruises) he didn’t like how lonely he seemed to be. Techno and Tommy grew so close so quickly, and he barely stepped outside unless he was called for.

And this is what led to Wilbur’s somewhat pathetic attempts at learning how to fight by sparring with his brothers.

Phil started by teaching him the basics; how to hold a sword, the right stance, how to deflect. Tommy, being a small, excitable gremlin child would butt in a few times to share more thoughts and ideas, some that Wilbur was vaguely certain weren’t entirely correct. Techno watched in silence.

His first match was against Tommy. Tommy was delighted.

“Remember to go easy on him, Tommy,” Phil called out as he and Techno took to the side lines to watch. “He’s just learning the basics. This isn’t a real battle.”

In less than one minute, Wilbur was knocked to his back as tiny, seven year old, gremlin child Tommy cheered for himself and punched the air.

Tommy was not allowed to spar with Wilbur after that.

His second match was with Techno.

This one lasted much more than a minute. Techno was slower. Every now and then he stopped to explain a move to Wilbur, to make sure Wilbur was okay, to correct him on something, to offer advice. It was… calming.

He was still easily defeated. He didn’t stand a chance against Technoblade. None of them did. Maybe that’s why Tommy’s mad at him now. Maybe Techno did something and no one was able to stop him. Ghostbur wished he could ask, but he wouldn’t. Not yet.

Wilbur went back to reading, back to writing. He didn’t fight much, unless Phil tried to coerce him into another sparring session. Tommy tried too. He wanted a rematch, which was a stupid thing to want considering he wont he first and only battle.

But Wilbur just kept reading.

He was still close to his family. The four of them were tightly knit. It was hard, some days, to be around each other, but it worked. Their home was isolated from the rest of the population, in the middle of the forest, close to the sea (which is another thing Ghostbur remembers fondly), with a wide open expanse out the back of their home that Wilbur’s family used for their sparring sessions. The closest town was a few twenty or so miles to the east. It took nearly ten hours to get there by horseback, so they didn’t go often.

Wilbur went to that town the most. To pick up food if their farms were running low (which was unlikely. Techno took very good care of their potatoes), to see if there was any news on human affairs, but mostly to see the library. He was a regular.

One day, when Wilbur was fifteen, he was sitting at his desk, writing about the current election and how one of the parties was probably creating fake votes for themself, when Tommy barged down their door. They shared a room, but it was still annoying because Tommy was very loud and Wilbur was trying to work.

“Where’s Techno?” he asked.

Wilbur put his quill down, turning in his chair to face his little brother. He was starting to get very tall. He was basically the same height as Phil now. “I don’t know. I thought he was with you and dad?”

“Nah, he must’ve ran off or something. I just thought he might’ve told you where to.”

Wilbur tapped against his desk (was that something Wilbur did a lot? Ghostbur remembers hitting desks quite a lot) and shrugged. “He didn’t tell me anything. He’ll probably be back by dinner.”

Tommy proceeded to make a weird gurgling noise before running back outside and launching himself at Phil at full force.

Wilbur chuckled, turning away from his open window and going back to his writing.

Techno was not back for dinner.

No one was particularly worried about his safety, they all knew he would be fine if any trouble occurred, they were mostly worried because he didn’t say where he was going or why he left.

Before Wilbur went to sleep, he lit a candle in the hallway. Just in case Techno showed up and it was too dark for him to make his way back to his room. Pigs did not have good vision, and neither did Techno, so the extra light would help.

(Phil had had to remind Wilbur to not leave lit candles out unsupervised. Ghostbur doesn’t like fire. He’ll have to remember that).

He was not back by breakfast.

At this point they were starting to get a little worried. Wilbur promised Phil that if he wasn’t back by midday, he would ride up to town to see if they had seen him.

Luckily, he was back by midday.

Turns out he had forgotten to leave a note, tried riding into town, gotten lost, found it by asking a random traveller, gotten lost while _in_ town, then gotten lost on the way back. Phil had chided him, reminding him to ‘bring a map’, or ‘go in with your brother’ and other advice that likely went in one ear out the other. Tommy had grabbed the end of his red coat (he had a new one; newly sewn by a seamstress from in town. Wilbur had it commissioned for his brother’s 17th birthday, and he still wore it over a year later) and begged Techno to take him with him next time, for his next 'adventure'.

Wilbur just laughed at Techno for getting lost and returned to his writing.

That night, after Tommy had had an adrenaline crash and fell asleep in seconds, Wilbur stayed by his desk by candlelight, still writing, when a knock came on his door. As quietly as he could, he put his quill down and went to answer it, expecting to find his father, when instead he came face to face with his older brother, nervously holding something behind his back.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” was the first thing Wilbur asked.

Techno shrugged. “Gave up on sleep a while ago.”

“Well, is there something I can help you with?” He tried to see behind Techno’s back, but his thick coat got in the way. Why’d Wilbur have to ask for the fabric to be good quality? People were going to think he cared about his family, and his teen angst didn’t like that idea.

Techno pulled out a book, holding it out to his younger brother. “I got this for you. 

Wilbur took the book. On the front, it read ‘The Art of War: The Oldest Military Treatise in the World’, and the name at the bottom said Sun Tzü. it was a good 300 pages, probably more.

“I, uh, I hope it’s the right one. I had to ask the people there for help, because, I uh...” he trailed off, suddenly finding huge interest in the floor.

“Techno, can you read?” Wilbur asked.

His face went a slightly darker shade of pink to what it usually was. “Uh, no. But I heard that this one was good and I thought you could, I don’t know, read it to me? In return we could do more sparring or something. Whatever works better for you.”

Was he nervous?

Wilbur smiled softly. “You want me to read this to you?”

“...Yes.”

And that is what led to Techno and Wilbur sitting outside, on the porch, on the bench, a candle lit by Wilbur’s head as he began reading out the opening paragraph of ‘The Art of War’.

Techno fell asleep by page three. Wilbur followed ten minutes later (after remembering to blow out the candle this time).

They were awoken the next morning by Tommy’s screeching laugh at the fact that they had fallen asleep on top of each other. Wilbur chased after him, 300 page book in hand, ready to Hit The Child, as Techno was still in the process of properly waking up.

They continued reading. Occasionally Wilbur would pause to make sure Techno was still paying attention or whatnot, and sometimes he would ask how to spell a word.

And the next morning, they sparred again.

Phil had taken Tommy to town, saying something about Tommy making a friend and wanting to see this new friend again, so as the two eldest brothers were home alone, Techno once again offered to teach Wilbur how to fight.

A few hours (and a few embarrassing defeats for Wilbur) later, they had taken the short walk down to the beach. As Wilbur waded through the shallow waves, collecting seashells and cool looking rocks or whatever, Techno took a stick and wrote ‘Tekno’ in the sand. Wilbur had corrected it, only after laughing for about three minutes. ‘Wilber’ and ‘Tomy’ were next, but he managed to get ‘Dad’ in one try. Unsurprisingly.

“Have you been practising?” Wilbur had asked.

Techno had shrugged. “I want to get good at it.”

Ghostbur remembers that. Techno wanted to get good at everything. He spent so much time making sure he was the best. Spent so much time.

Wilbur went through the alphabet next, drawing the letters in the semi-wet sand and letting the waves wash them away and restarting. Probably a better starting point than ‘The Art of War’.

As he was halfway through the song, Techno took his writing stick and hit it against Wilbur’s. A sudden sparring session, as it seemed. Wilbur’s stick broke soon after, so Techno threw his own into the ocean and it turned into a battle of fists. It only turned into a battle of wits when Wilbur knew there was no way he could win this, so he ran into the ocean, just far enough so the water hit his knees. So what if his clothes got a little bit wet? His pride was at stake.

“That’s cheating,” Techno yelled. He stayed away from the water, just on the edge of where the waves met the shore.

“There were no rules to begin with,” Wilbur pointed out.

He responded by taking off his cape and carefully resting it away from the waves before charging into the water and tackling Wilbur.

Techno won. Again. 

After drying off (Wilbur still found it funny how Techno’s thin layer of pig fur frizzed up when it got wet, so he, of course, laughed at that), they walked back up the path, Techno muttering about how angry he was that his coat was covered in sand and how he would have to wash it now. Wilbur listened, watching the trees pass. Once Techno had finished throwing his miny temper tantrum and stopped complaining and their silence welled around them, it felt peaceful. Despite their differences and despite their arguments, it was peaceful. They could always find contentment in each other’s company. There was always comfort.

Comfortable enough for Wilbur to feel safe to ask Techno what he was always too scared to ask Phil.

“Do you remember my mother?” Wilbur asked quietly.

Techno thought for a second. “Vaguely. You have her hair. Tommy has her eyes.”

More silence. They crossed over a hill and their home came into view in the distance. Wilbur imagined it, a mother, around long enough for Techno to remember her ever so slightly. Brown hair, blue eyes. It was weird, unusual even, but it was nice to think about.

“Do you remember _your_ mother?” he asked, gently, not quietly.

He shook his head, more ready to answer this question than the previous one. “All I remember about her is she was part pig, like me. Dad said she gave me a crown when I was two, but I don’t know where that crown is.”

“A crown?”

“A crown. Apparently she was a demigod.”

Wilbur couldn’t think of any more questions. Ghostbur can. 

It was a lazy day at home for the rest of the day. Techno tended the potato fams, starting to cook dinner for the pair while Wilbur washed his brother’s gown and continued to write. The only sounds were the pot over the fireplace and Wilbur’s humming.

The next day, Techno woke Wilbur up at much too early a time for his liking, two books in hand—The Art of War and what looked like a blank, leather bound notebook.

Wilbur blearily wiped his eyes. “You want another lesson?”

“If you’re willing.”

He was willing.

By the time Phil and Tommy got back from town, he had taught Techno the whole alphabet, and the house was filled with the sound of him singing the song for the next 12 hours, which Tommy both hated and loved (to make fun of).

For the next few weeks, they fell into a routine. Techno and Tommy would spar in the morning while the ocean breeze was cool, and after lunch Wilbur taught him more on writing, and read more of The Art of War. After the whole family had done any necessary chores, eaten dinner and Tommy had fallen asleep, Techno continued to try and teach Wilbur more on fighting.

~  
_  
“All war is deception,” Techno says, monotone as always._

_Wilbur looks from the sword in his own hand to the sword in his older brother’s. “Uh… okay?”_

_“That’s a quote from Sun Tzu,” he explains._

_He blinks. “Have you… memorised it?”_

_“Of course." He says it like it's obvious, as if it's to be expected. He readies his sword. “Are you ready?”_

_Wilbur raises his sword. “As I’ll ever be.”_

_Techno throws the first hit, as he usually does. Wilbur's always too scared to go first, so he lets his brother start them off. As soon as the movement begins, Wilbur finds his rhythm, dodging his attack with ease._

_"Good job," Techno says, nodding._

_Wilbur smiles. "Thanks."_

_He takes the next hit, doing a side swing with his sword, hoping to hit Techno in the ribs (or something), but he steps back, using his own sword to thrust forward and hits towards Wilbur's chest._

_It was too quick, and Wilbur can only stumble backwards from the impact._

_"Are you okay?" Techno asks immediately._

_"You don't need to keep asking that," Wilbur responds. "I'll tell you if I'm not."_

_After quickly regaining his balance and getting back into the proper sword fighting stance, they continued._

_(there was meant to be more sparring scenes here but i gave up lol sorry just use your ~imagination~ or something)_

_Wilbur adjusted his helmet._

_“Is it on correctly?” Techno asks him._

_“I think so? Can you check?"_

_With a soft chuckle, Techno hoists his sword to his belt, going over to help his brother put on his helmet._

_As soon as he was just about finished, Wilbur swiftly grabbed Techno's own sword, and uses it to hit the back of his knees, sending him stumbling backwards._

_"Wha-" he began, but was promptly shut up by Wilbur pushing against his shoulder, and he fell to the floor._

_Wilbur had… won?_

_Techno stared up at him, face blank as he still seemed to be processing what just happened._

_Wilbur walked over to him, standing over and looking down._

_"Attack him where he is unprepared," Wilbur says, and the look of fear on Techno's face is enough to make him nearly cry from happiness. "Appear where you are not expected."_

_"Did you just… quote Sun Tzu at me?" Techno says, horrified. It was some of the most emotion Wilbur has ever heard in his brother's voice._

_"You bet I did."_

_Wilbur was too busy feeling immensely overjoyed that he had just beaten Techno at his own game, he didn't notice how Techno was quite literally about to probably kill him._

_Surprisingly, Tommy is the one that ends the battle. He must've seen them fighting, seen how Wilbur had nearly beaten Techno, and decided to sow even more chaos, rushing in, wooden axe at the ready, and hit Techno over the back of the head. Techno immediately forgot about his previous plan to brutally murder Wilbur for using a Sun Tzu quote to beat him, and turned to his youngest brother, wasting no time to dropkick the child._

_Phil had to step in before Techno_ actually _managed to kill one of them._

 _Before they went to sleep that night, Techno apologised to Wilbur. They almost hugged. Almost._  
  
~~~

Ghostbur remembers five things happening on Wilbur’s sixteenth birthday.

The first was the cake Phil had baked him. So sweet, so nice.

The second was the gift Tommy gave him—a guitar. Turns out he thought Wilbur was actually rather musically talented and had gone to town to try and find something to help him show it off. Sure, he had no lessons, but he was already mentally making plans to go find books on the matter later. For just then, he just plucked at strings and told by ear if it sounded good or not.

The third was when he looked through his bookshelf. It had a been a while since he had read The Art of War (he didn’t need to read it and Techno constantly quoted it), and he had long moved past it, now using different books to help teach Techno, so reading it then was mostly for nostalgia’s sake.

When he opened the first page, there was writing. As he flipped through the book, the writing continued. Annotations, sticky notes, highlighted paragraphs, all in the familiar messy scrawl of someone who barely had opposable thumbs and still messed up ‘k’ and ‘ch’.

Wilbur smiled. He really was learning.

The end of the day came, and after a hearty meal of yet again more potatoes, they all went to their rooms. Except Wilbur, who, as soon as everyone else was asleep, had left the house, lantern in hand as he walked down the beaten path to the beach.

It was in high tide. There wasn’t much beach left, so he sat at the edge of the grass, resting the lantern by his side and looking out to the water. The ocean was always something he liked, and he still does. Ghostbur’s sure there’s more to his connection to the sea than just this, but he can’t… fully remember it.

“You shouldn’t leave the lantern so close to such dry grass.”

Wilbur looked up at his brother, who was standing a few feet behind him, sans his usual red gown. He looked down at the lantern. He moved it.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

Techno moved to sit next to him. “Mostly to see where you were running off to.”

“Mostly?”

“I also wanted to give you your gift. Because it’s, you know, your birthday.”

He watched as Techno reached into his pocket, pulling out two pieces of paper and handing them to Wilbur carefully. Wilbur lifted the lantern to look at the first one, a small, smooch piece of paper with a photo on it. The photo was not of a fridge, but rather of a woman, with similar hair to Wilbur’s and similar eyes to Tommy’s, and she was looking not at the camera, but above it, at whoever was taking the photo, and smiling so softly. She looked so familiar, yet so distant.

Techno watched Wilbur carefully.

“Is that…?”

Techno nodded.

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it in dad’s room, in his drawer. I knew I recognized her from somewhere. You should read the letter.”

The second piece of paper Techno had handed him was indeed a letter.

“I don’t know what it says,” Techno said. “I don’t think it’s written in English.”

“No, it is. It’s just written in script.”

_Dear Phil,_

_I hope_  
  
Ghostbur doesn’t remember the rest of the letter.

He does remember walking back down the path, letters in shaky hand as Techno held the lantern for them, silent. More silent than usual. Ghostbur remembers the walk being… silent. Techno seemed… sad? No, no, don’t remember that. Forget that one.

That was the fourth thing Ghostbur remembers. Or at least half remembers.

The fifth was only a few minutes after the pair arrived home, right before they parted ways to go to their rooms.

Techno dropped the lantern on the dining room table, then Wilbur told Techno to stay where he was, going into his and Tommy’s room. He quietly pulled back a piece of the floor, where he had hidden a chest, mostly to keep it away from Tommy. There were very few things in there, but now his mother’s photo and letter would join his collection. What was in there was his most prized books, some seashells he had collected, and one last thing, which he picked out and held behind his back as he rejoined his brother in the main room.

“I was planning on waiting to give you this on _your_ birthday, but I really want to give it to you now, especially after your gift,” Wilbur said.

Techno squinted at him.

He handed Techno his early birthday present—a shiny golden crown encrusted with colourful gems.

Techno held it so gently, as if he would crush it if he applied too much force. He probably could, if he really wanted to.

“I remember you saying your mother gave you a crown, but you don’t have it anymore,” Wilbur explained. “So I got you one.”

He nervously watched his brother as he spun the crown around slowly, examining it.

“...I can return it, if-”

Wilbur was effectively shut up by Techno firmly placing the crown on his head. “I love it.”

He wore that crown. Always. Ghostbur can’t think of a single time he took that crown off. When he brought up the crown with Tommy the other day, Tommy said he took the crown off at the same time when he took the gown off in the pit. Ghostbur doesn’t know what the pit is. Tommy didn’t want to talk about it.

Ghostbur doesn’t remember when exactly he and Techno stopped their sparring sessions. They must’ve slowly happened less and less, as the need for Wilbur to teach him how to read grew sparse. He was reading more than Wilbur was. A fanatic for books. It was almost a competition to him, as most everything seemed to be. Be a better reader than the teacher.

One day, they had their last sparring session. Ghostbut doesn’t remember which one was the last, but the last one he remembers was one with Tommy. The three of them standing in a triangle, sword, axe and crossbow respectively, pointed at each other as Phil stood on the porch and watched. Tommy threw the first metaphorical punch, swinging his axe at Techno. Probably a strategic move. Techno was the biggest threat out of the three of them.

He doesn’t remember how it ended, just remembers he lost. He remembers Tommy complaining, so Techno must’ve won.

Wilbur lost, Techno won, and Tommy failed.

Phil congratulated Techno before comforting Tommy.

Wilbur was back at his desk before any attention could be turned to him.

~~~

The old house is in surprisingly good condition considering no one has lived in it for at least a decade.

The old wooden weapons were still leaning on the wall, though the sword must’ve fallen down during a storm.

The door is unlocked. Not that Ghostbur would be stopped by a locked door. He is, after all, a ghost and is not restricted by the physical realm.

The main room is only barely covered by dust. Someone must’ve been here not too long ago. Ghostbur bets it was either Phil or Techno. Tommy probably wouldn’t have dusted anything.

His old room, the one he shared with Tommy for so long, is untouched, furthering his theory Tommy hasn’t been here. It’s just as he… It’s just as he imagined he would remember it if he could remember what it last looked like.

But he does remember which wooden plank to pull it up and he does remember the chest. It’s still filled with rocks, seashells, a necklace Sally had given him, The Art of War, a faded red bandana, a broken guitar pic, a crumpled, pink baby toy, and two loose pieces of paper, slightly faded from the time it’s been down here.

He takes the paper. The woman staring at him does not have his hair. She had brown hair. He has gray hair. It’s a shame. She looks kinda pretty. She looks like Tommy. She has his eyes.

He reads the letter.

_Dear Phil,_

__

__

_I hope this doesn't come as too much of a surprise, but I feel like it will, at least for you and the kids. I also don't want you to come look for me. I don't want to come back. I'm leaving, for good this time._

__

__

_I know I told you I didn't mind about Techno and ‘his heritage' or whatever you want to call it now, but it’s really starting to piss me off. It actually started a while ago. The tipping point was that goddamn crown incident. I feel like I don't have to explain myself with that and how annoying it is. You know what happened._

_It’s not even my kid, I don’t know why you expected me to like it. It’s a nuisance. You can complain about Tom being loud or whatever, but at least he didn’t break my hand over a stupid family heirloom from a woman who’s probably long dead._

_Speaking of Tom, you should probably care more about him. I know Techno’s your obvious favourite, but don’t let the kids grow up being able to see it. ~~I don’t want to break their hearts like that.~~ I don’t want you to hurt them like that._

_If I ever do come back, it’ll be for my kid. Not for you, or for that pig brat. You lost my respect weeks ago. ~~I would take my son with me, but~~_

_No longer all yours, Gnusmas._

_P.S Tell Will to stop eating sand. He’ll hurt himself. I don’t want you hurting my baby._

He stares at it.

He almost expects Techno to show up behind him, to be in the background as he was everywhere. To show up and chide Ghostbur for not locking the door behind him, to make fun of him for not remembering the contents of the letter in the first place, to just _be_ there and do _something._

There is no Techno behind him.

There is, however, a fox.

“My little champion!” Ghostbur says immediately, dropping the paper on the floor and floating over to his son, clasping his hands together and smiling. His vision is foggy, but he’s certain Fundy is smiling too. He has to be.

“Wilbur, what are you doing?” he says. He doesn’t sound happy. “What even is this place?”

“Do you not remember? This is where I grew up! That bed there was mine, and the bottom bunk was Tommy’s—you know Tommy, don’t you?”

He ignores Ghostbur’s question. “What were you reading?”

Ghostbur looks behind him at the paper he was previously holding, and picks it up. “It’s your grandmother.” He holds the photo out to show his son. “I don’t think you have any resemblance, but she does look like Tommy, doesn’t she?”

He stares at it, then gently takes it from him, examining it up close. “My grandmother?”

He nods. “She left. She really didn’t like Techno. Here, read this one!”

As Fundy reads the letter, Ghostbur looks through his old bookshelf. So many books on geography. He’s always liked geography. He still does. There’s an empty book on the third shelf. What went there? He can’t remember. It must’ve been one of Techno’s. What he does remember is Techno became a very avid reader, he even joked about going to a college to study english professionally. Tommy and Phil said he was better suited to fighting.

“Glad to know being a shitty parent runs in the family,” he hears Fundy say, and when he turns, he sees that he’s giving the letter back to Ghostbur.

“She wasn’t a shitty parent,” he tries to defend. “She had her reasons.”

Fundy stares at him. “ _That’s_ your takeaway?”

What did he do wrong?

“I’m sorry.”

But Fundy said it earlier—sorry doesn’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t make up for what he did. If only he could remember what he did to make his son hate him so much. To hate everything about him.

“What are you even doing here?” Fundy repeats.

Ghostbur gestures to the letter. “I wanted to remember what it said! I must’ve forgotten.” He stared at it, at the green wax seal stamped over the top, at the heart engraved in the now broken wax. “That’s weird. I don’t remember now.”

The look Fundy gives him is so… sad. Ghostbur doesn’t like that face.

“I wouldn’t recommend reading it, Dad,” he says, softly.

Ghostbur smiles. Dad.

“I think I should… go now.”

“Stay safe!” Ghostbur says, ignoring that sinking, sickening, sad feeling in his gut. “Have fun wherever you’re going!”

By the time Ghostbur has put the letter and photo back in the box and hidden it back under the floor, Fundy was out of the house and heading… somewhere. Ghostbur didn’t catch where he was going. Maybe to the ocean. Wilbur liked the ocean. Hopefully Fundy does too. Hopefully the two of them can go there together one day, and go fishing. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

He stares at the wooden plank. What did he put in there again? It probably wasn't important if he forgot it… right?

He still expects Techno to show up. He doesn’t. He is alone.

When he leaves, he closes the door behind him and makes sure to lock it.

The sword on the floor outside looks so far away.

**Author's Note:**

> im most active on tumblr @the-pigeon so. hit me up or smthn djfsdkjfhsd


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